


She Keeps Me Warm

by morriganmatron



Category: Brave (2012), Frozen (2013)
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5548709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morriganmatron/pseuds/morriganmatron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't set yourself on fire to keep others warm, or so Merida is learning. With tensions getting worse with her mother over finding a man and settling down, the free-spirited peasant girl wants to be a warrior for the princess instead. The princess who is about to become queen, that is. And the new queen Elsa has her own set of secrets, ones which could destroy the whole kingdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Keeps Me Warm

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently writing a ton of new fanfics, this one and one for the Rumbelle fandom along with The 100, but I wanted to go ahead and publish the excerpt I have finished!

“I don’t think you want another one.” The man stares at me for a second, gauging my reaction as if he’s afraid I might start a fight. Granted, I do have a reputation around here and I am already drunk, but I stay calm for once. I don’t want to get kicked out of a pub tonight. I have an important date.

“I’ll be fine.” I slur my words as I wave him away, my heavy peasant accent all-too-noticeable underneath my drunken speech. “Just give me a small one.” I make a gesture with my hand to show a size that isn’t very small, but I smile like an idiot as if I meant to make a joke.

He hesitates for another moment, but then realizes it’s futile to argue with a drunken peasant girl and turns away to prepare my pint. I’m glad he didn’t press it, or else I might have gotten irritated. I don’t like to be taken for a fool, especially when I’m drunk.

Which is why I am starting to get impatient. The girl said she would meet me here at midnight, and I can already feel dawn creeping up like a bitter frost. I run a hand through my tangled red curls, debating whether to just give up on all of it and stay the night at the pub, because I can’t ride home when I’m like this. My mother would be beside herself, as if she doesn’t already have enough reasons to hate me.

Not that I care what my mother thinks of me. She thinks I am the least profitable daughter she has, as if I am a prize to be won. Every morning it is the same greeting: “Merida, go down to the market today and find a man. Stop practicing for something ya know you cannae have.” And every morning, all the same, I take my horse Angus out to the fields and practice archery instead and try to teach myself how to speak without the horrible peasant accent. If I want to be one of the princess’s bodyguards, I cannot be easily distinguishable as something so distasteful. I’m already hated by my mother; I can’t afford to have the royal family after me, too.

My mother believes the only “profitable” life for a woman is to have a man in her life. For the past three years since my father passed away, she has been adamant that I find a husband and continue the family line. And every time, I resist. I used to feel guilty for disappointing her, but now I take a small pleasure in seeing her face contort in anger and reminding myself she doesn’t know everything about me.

Because there is no way in heaven she could know about all the sloppy kisses at age sixteen, all the stolen bottles of gin at seventeen, and all of the midnight escapades this past year. And there is no way in hell she could know that all of those kisses were with women instead of men.

As if on cue, my date opens the door to the pub and as the wind picks up and pushes snow flurries into the room, I realize she isn't that bad-looking. Colleen is her name, if I remember right. I was a bit too far gone when I met her, as is usual for me. She is a stable hand for the some of the town's extra horses and was kind enough to lend me a sober horse when I accidentally let Angus have some of my whiskey one night.

"Melanie!" She walks over to me with a small smile on her face. I didn't choose that nickname, she did. Personally, I think it sounds like the name for a highland princess who doesn't know how to shoot a bow by herself.

"How are ye?" My voice sounds more rough than usual, and I cough to get some of the cold out of my lungs. "I trust ye traveled safely."

We both look around for a moment, making sure no one is listening. The pub is busy for now, and no one has recognized my red mane of hair underneath my cloak yet. Colleen gives me a wink. "Papa wondered why I had to be out so late tending to the horses. I said one of them has a terrible cold."

My laugh is low and soft, but I don't meet her eyes. Instead, I stare down at the brownish liquid in my mug. Liquid luck, my father used to call it. Of course, he didn't need as much luck as I do. People naturally liked him. Myself, on the other hand...

"Merida? Merida."

Colleen is waving her hand in front of my face, and it seems she's been doing this for a while now. I know I should feel bad, but whenever I meet a woman for a midnight love affair, I do not think I could feel more removed from the situation. A small part of myself wonders if I do this simply to get my mind off of my pitiful life, but another part isn't sure if I would know the difference between lust and love in the first place.


End file.
